


what did i ever do to deserve someone like you

by dirtmemer



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: M/M, Unreliable Narrator, cant promise theyre in character, kinda sad, mild violence, this whole thing is just me reaching my fingers into reiji's head sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 12:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17080685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtmemer/pseuds/dirtmemer
Summary: Kotobuki Reiji and Kisaragi Aine in eight parts.





	what did i ever do to deserve someone like you

**Author's Note:**

> *points* sad man reiji

**i.**

He walks into the room and all you can think of is his smile, the way he lights up when he spots you, huddled in a corner, stubbing a cigarette out against the wall. 

"Reiji," he says. His voice is a lilt. A curl around the syllables of your name. 

The thing about Aine is this: he is the perfect mix of angelic and risqué. You want to drown yourself in the lines of his face. The curve of his mouth. He stands in front of you, his leg bumping against your knee, and he says: "I was looking for you," and he closes his eyes and smiles. 

"You found me," you tell him. There are countless little black circles in the paint, from where you've smoked and had a few existensial crises and smoked some more and put out all your cigarettes the same way: stubbed against the wall. 

Aine sits down in your lap. He does things like this, sometimes. He sits on your lap, knees bracketing your thighs, his pretty face so close to your own. He smells like shampoo and the awful, fruity cologne you gave him once as a joke. 

"Aine–" you begin to say, and he plucks the stub of your cigarette out of your fingers. He holds it up, examines it. Like a cigarette stub is particularly fascinating. He holds it up against the light of the room and he says, "You should stop smoking, Reiji." 

It's something you've fought about. Not in the most traditional way– Aine doesn't like yelling. Doesn't do well with aggression. Hates any hint of confrontation. He nags at you instead, nitpicking until you want to tear your hair out and fuck him senseless. 

Maybe he's in the mood for a fight. 

"What," you say, teasing, your hands on his thighs, "You don't like the taste?" 

You don't know what you ever expect from him. He laughs. His arms fall around your neck, pulling you close. You put your hands on his waist, pulling him closer. 

"I like it," Kisaragi Aine says, and kisses you. 

 

**ii.**

Sex with Aine is like this: he tells you what he wants and you give it to him. Sometimes he wants to pin you against the wall, drop to his knees and suck you off somewhere anyone could walk by. Sometimes he wants you to eat him out until he begs for you to fuck him. 

It's a mood thing. 

Always, always, always– he asks for you to look at him, _look at me Reiji please look at me only me only me only me_ , and you can't tear your eyes away. Sometimes you're bitter about that. Sometimes you think things like _don't you already have the whole world looking at you, don't you already have the entire spotlight, don't you already have everything_? 

Your thoughts always turn bitter on your tongue. You choke them back and lick up the side of Aine's neck. You want to leave a mark. You want to bite him and fuck him until he can't walk. You want to see him bruise. You want to see him cry– you want to hold him and wipe his tears away. 

It's so easy to tangle yourself in him. He is like a thousand snakes. He doesn't know who he is anymore, under that stupid idol persona. Same as you. You sell yourself until you forget yourself. Fragment into pieces and give them away until you have nothing left. 

"Reiji," Aine chokes out, his thighs tight around your waist, and you're taken with how beautiful he sounds until he asks you to hit him. 

"No," you tell him. He always asks, and you always say no. An intimate push and pull. But you always find a compromise– you have to give him what he wants. So you flip him over and press his face against the bed and fuck him so hard he passes out. He always goes so tight and sweet around your cock. You think that it's ironic, really, for someone so perfect in the public eye, so beloved, so wonderful– to be here, underneath you. Moaning your name, shaking his hips. Always acting like a slut for your dick. Aine always says that you think too much. You watch the way his back twitches, feel the way his legs tremble. You push your hips against his ass and stop thinking. 

It's a mood thing. 

 

**iii.**

"Do you love me?" he asks you, when his belly is still sticky with cum and sweat. When his thighs are plastered with your orgasm, your teeth marks, the shapes your fingers left against his skin. 

You really want a smoke. He'll pout if you smoke indoors, though. You make do by pressing your mouth against his shoulder. 

"I'm yours, aren't I?" you tell him. 

He watches you: a few different kinds of melancholy. You sweep his sweaty hair off the curve of his neck and you look at him and you think: what did you ever do to deserve someone like him? 

"I'm _yours_ ," he tells you, wavering. First and foremost. He hides his face from you, turns away, doesn't look you in the eye. There are a lot of things he isn't saying. You stroke the curve of his cheek with your thumb and wait. For a few moments the both of you are just there, pressed against each other. Waiting. 

Eventually, he meets your gaze. You don't tell him to stop crying. Big tears drip down his cheek. He says, quiet, "I don't like being an idol." 

_Oh_ , you think. 

"Oh," you tell him. 

There is nothing else to say. 

 

**iv.**

You fight about it. 

It's a fight, in the non-traditional sense. Not loud, not aggressive, non-confrontational. Everything slips out of your mouth in nasty, burning syllables. It's a few days later, when Aine comes by with Kei and Hibiki, the three of them muttering about a new song you aren't a part of. It rankles at you. Prickles under your skin. You feel blown out of your chest with rage. With all of your stupid pride you had to swallow. Everything you had to give up for this. 

You don't want to act out. You don't want to reign it in, either. When they come into the room, you stand up to leave. You smile at them, still. Say: "Gotta run, boys! Have fun! Bye bye~" You're as much of a snake as they are. Sometimes everyone forgets it. Even you. 

You kick over a trash can. "Whoops," you say, to no one in particular. No one's around, but you make excuses anyways. "Clumsy me!" 

Its a few minutes later that Aine finds you. He's always been good at finding you. At the agency, at wherever you'd drive off to in the middle of the nights where you have dreams that leave you empty. He catches your arm, tugs you back into an empty music room. 

"Why are you mad?" he asks. 

"I'm not," you tell him. The lie catches in your throat. How do you tell him you're angry at him for being better at idol business even though he hates it? "Where's your music production team?" 

"Music production– they're _your_ friends too! Reiji, what's going on? Why are you acting like this?" 

"Acting like what?" you tell him. It's not your intention to scare him. You don't ever want to scare him. But you think he's scared anyways, in this very moment. The room seems narrow. Cold. Aine's eyes are wide. 

"Reiji," Aine says. Pleading. "I don't– did I say something wrong?" 

You exhale. "Aine," you say. You take a step forward. He takes a step back. Instinctively, like you're something threatening. Like he didn't ask you to fuck him until he cried just a few days ago. Like he didn't curl up against you to watch you play video games yesterday. Like you don't love him– like you're being _unreasonable_. 

He's backed up against the door. Gently. You are always gentle with him, unless he asks you not to be. 

"Sometimes," you tell him, and he watches you and waits for what you're going to say. "Sometimes, I really hate you. You know?" 

"Reiji," he says. He sounds hurt. 

"I've always wanted this," you tell him. "Being an idol. Having people _look_ at me, like– like I'm worth something. Anything! And you– beautiful, perfect Kisaragi Aine– you have everything I _want_. Don't cry. Don't cry, Aine, it's true. You've taken _everything_ – everyone's focused on _you_ , aren't they? And you _hate it_." 

Aine is crying, even though you told him not to. He cries quiet, like if anyone sees him he'll never live it down. And in some way, he won't, will he? You understand the lack of privacy being an idol brings, at least. 

You wish you loved him less. It would hurt less to hurt him if you didn't love him. 

"You really hate me?" That's his question, whispered out into the open. Aine wipes his tears with his sleeves, but more spills over. A never ending loop of wiping away tears only to produce more tears. 

You drop your arms. Slowly, tentatively, you drop your head onto his shoulder. 

"I love you so much more," you tell him. "I love you. I love you so much, Aine, it _hurts_." 

Aine's arms come up around you. You fit there, in his embrace. His cheek presses against the top of your head. His tears makes your hair damp. He doesn't say anything. You don't say anything else. You put your arms around him too. When you inhale, you only smell Aine– his shampoo, his detergent. 

In your arms, he trembles like a caged bird. When you hold his wrists, his pulse trembles. Fragile, temporary. When you kiss him, he only sighs. 

 

 **v.**

This time, he rides you flat on your back. He takes your cock and shakes himself apart on top of you. You fit together so perfectly. His fingers laced between yours feels like a god given right. A thousand beautiful things under the sun, and he's the softest, the sweetest. You dig your nails into his skin and he moans all pretty, sighs so gorgeous. He tips his head back and rolls his hips; you watch him and want him and take him. 

He's yours– that's what he tells you. You've never been good at sharing. You don't want to _share_. You want him to yourself like you want the spotlight to yourself. You want these things like burning. Like you're dying of a thirst you can't quench. 

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn _you_. He's _yours_. He's yours; _you're his_. 

He whimpers your name. "Reiji," he moans, "Reiji, Reiji, Reiji." 

You cum so fucking hard. You pour yourself into him, and you babble, "I love you, I love you– love you love you, Aine, I–" 

He collapses against you. Sweaty, exhausted, sticky. He's warm against you, as he traces circles into your collarbone. 

"Reiji," he says, as you lie there limp and tired. You curl yourself around him, stroking his hip. "Reiji, I love you." 

You kiss his neck. 

"I know." 

 

**vi.**

12.58 p.m. > reiji good luck for your audition!!!!!  
12.58 p.m. > you'll do so well  
12.59 p.m. > i love you  
13.00 p.m. > i'm taking your girlfriend out for a spin  
13.01 p.m. > i'll put the car keys back where i found them, i promise  
13.01 p.m. > i love you 

 

< _You have 14 missed calls_ >

 

**vii.**

There are fourteen missed calls. 

Kei is furious when he sees you. "What have you _done_!" he screams, "Kotobuki you–" 

He throws himself at you. His punch lands, right on your mouth. You collapse sideways from the force of his blow, bewildered and pained. 

"What's going on?" you ask. Hibiki is there too. His arms are crossed. He doesn't look at you. 

Hibiki says, tightly: "Aine is gone." 

Kei howls, in rage, in terror, in sadness. He is a terrible mix of emotions that he cannot control. Hibiki has to hold him back when he starts crying and tries to lunge at you again, calling you all the unkind things he can think off. 

"What do you mean," you say. You feel light-headed. You taste blood in your mouth. 

Hibiki doesn't look at you. "He's dead, Reiji." 

Kei is sobbing. Hibiki hauls him away. They leave you there, crumpled against the floor. 

You are alone. 

 

**viii.**

15.58 p.m. > i guess i can't return your keys  
15.59 p.m. > i'm sorry i took your girlfriend with me  
16.00 p.m. > i love you reiji

**Author's Note:**

> bye bye aine


End file.
